Heat scours Misery’s cheeks. She tightens her fists as though that might ease the fire in her chest and in her teeth. This scoundrel, who came into her mind, who acted under false pretenses so she’d fuck him, this absolute, spineless piece of shit—

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

The aegis surrounding Jericho snaps off, leaving a sonic void in its wake. Dr. Sower stands before the prisoner, fists propped on hips. “Now, Jericho. You remember our Messiah, don’t you? Of course you do. They have some questions for you that we want answered. Answer them properly, and all will be well. Fuck around, and…” She raises a hand curled around the telescoping length of a shock stick, an instrument of less-than-gentle persuasion. “You’re going to find out.”

Jericho’s eyes flick in her direction. There’s no fear in his expression, only weariness. It’s not his first go with the stick; he’s been here a long time. Done this dance more times than he wanted. “Now,” says the doctor, in her sing-song voice: “You’ll be a good boy, won’t you?”

His only response is to look away. The doctor tuts, and jabs the stick into his left shoulder. He cries out as voltage snaps through skin and flesh. “It’s a yes or no question, Jericho.”

“Yes,” he gasps. Voice smaller and higher-pitched than in the dreams.

“Good.”

Dr. Sower hands the stick to Misery and withdraws. Pressure around her upper arm, warm and steadying: Lightning, giving her a quick squeeze for comfort. Misery realizes she’s shaking. It’s not from fear, though. She’s not afraid. She faces the creature who lied to her, who used her and violated her. He seems so much smaller in real life; a couple of swift kicks to the gut and throat would end him. She could end him.

“Jericho,” Misery says. “It’s me. Do you remember?”

“Do I remember you?” A soft laugh. “You’re pretty hard to forget.” He looks up, finally, and their eyes meet. “What now, Misery Nomaki? What do you want from me?”

“You know the answer.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re a fucking telepath. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not a telepath. I told you. I didn’t come to you, you came to me.”

Misery kicks him. Drives the toe of her boot into the soft cartilage of his knee as he kneels. A sound of bone dislodging and he cries out, doubling over in pain.

From behind, Dr. Sower laughs. “Forge, I like your style.”

Jericho looks up at her. Eyes rheumy, skin blue in the thin hollows around the bone. “Misery, you really have no idea … Do you?”

“Stop playing games. You think you can trick me a second time?”